


Everybody's Bruising

by halfsweet



Series: Parallel AU [12]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 02:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11934294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsweet/pseuds/halfsweet
Summary: “Did you take your pills today?”Brendon winces at the sound of a fork clanking against the plate. This is not the way he wants to start his morning, but lately it seems like it’s becoming a new routine for him.For them.“You ask me that question everyday.” Patrick mumbles as he pushes his plate away.





	Everybody's Bruising

“Did you take your pills today?”

Brendon winces at the sound of a fork clanking against the plate. This is not the way he wants to start his morning, but lately it seems like it’s becoming a new routine for him. _For them._

“You ask me that question everyday.” Patrick mumbles as he pushes his plate away. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and gets off the stool.

He pushes down the heavy feeling in his stomach. “You haven’t finished your food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He grabs Patrick’s wrist before Patrick can leave, and he pulls him back to the counter where their breakfast lies. “Please?”

Patrick bites his lip, his eyes flicking over to the plates. He doesn’t say anything, and Brendon wishes that he can read Patrick’s mind, because during the silence, he can see all sorts of emotions running through Patrick’s eyes. Confused. Reluctance. Agitation.

“Brendon…”

“Just a few more bites?” He asks, hopeful.

Patrick eventually sighs, turning away and releasing his hand from Brendons grip. “I’m late. I’ll see you later.”

He can only watch as Patrick disappears from the kitchen, and when the front door opens and closes, he lets out a small sigh. Why is it so hard to get Patrick to eat breakfast? In his defense, he doesn’t cook too many pancakes; only three layers each for both of them.

Just like the previous mornings, he goes into the bathroom and opens the medicine cabinet, his chest aching as a familiar orange bottle stares back at him with its contents half-full.

He doesn’t have to count to know that they’re still the same amount as they were a couple of weeks ago.

-

He prepares some toast and scrambled eggs this time, making them just the way Patrick likes it in hopes that Patrick will finish his breakfast. He also has a plan up his sleeve to get Patrick to eat his pills. He can’t bear another day knowing that Patrick has stopped his medications without telling him.

He doesn’t know what else to do with their situation. It’s been more than a month since Patrick started acting weird. Started becoming detached from him. He doesn’t even want to think of the possibilities that they’re going to--

He shakes off the thought. No. It’s not going to happen.

His head snaps up when Patrick walks into the kitchen, his steps slow as if they were forced. His heart clenches at that. Does Patrick really feel forced? Like he’s obligated to come to the kitchen every morning to keep his suspicions from arising?

Patrick sits down in front of him, pulling his plate closer, but doesn’t eat. Instead, he’s picking at his food. Tearing the toast and eggs into smaller pieces. Moving them around on the plate.

He waits until Patrick takes the first bite to open his mouth. “Did you take your pills today?”

“Yes.” Patrick answers, quiet and downcast. He takes another bite of the toast. A nibble, really.

“When?”

“After shower.”

He scrubs his hand over his flushed face. “Patrick, I would really appreciate it if you’d stop lying to me.”

Patrick drops his fork on the plate, the sharp clanking noise echoing throughout the kitchen, and furrows his eyebrows. “I’m not lying. I really did take my pills.”

Sliding his hand into his pocket, he procures the orange bottle and sets it gently on the counter. He tries not to look at Patrick’s frightened expression, at the betrayed look in Patrick’s eyes. He absolutely _abhors_ doing this to Patrick, but Patrick already has plenty of opportunities to come clean to him, admit to him that he hasn’t been taking his medication, but he doesn’t. He keeps lying, every _single_ day, in front of him, straight to his face, and he doesn’t even show the slightest amount of regret.

“Brendon, I--” Patrick stammers, his voice shaky and eyes glazing. “I didn’t-- I’m sor--”

He lifts his hand, instantly shutting Patrick up. “I don’t want to hear anything. I just want you to finish your breakfast and eat your pills.”

With that, he begins to eat his breakfast, not saying a single word. He doesn’t look up from his plate. Guilt slowly creeps up on him, because at the moment, he just doesn’t want to look at Patrick.

The silence breaks when Patrick places his fork down, mumbling, “I’m done.”

He flicks his gaze at Patrick’s plate, satisfied that he’s finished all his food, but that doesn’t mean Patrick’s off the hook yet. He grabs the prescription bottle, taking a pill out and handing it to Patrick. It’s only when Patrick takes the pill from him that he lifts his head, just to make sure that Patrick eats it.

Patrick, however, doesn’t look at him. He’s looking down at his lap, spinning his empty glass on the counter, shoulders hunched. He pops the pill into his mouth, and Brendon grabs their plates, bringing them to the sink.

He opens the tap, the running water being the only sound heard in the kitchen. The silence is killing him. He wants to be able to talk to Patrick, wants to crack jokes and laugh like how they used to. He just wants to have Patrick back.

But his anger is still blazing in his chest; the flame too hot he can’t even _stand_ to be near Patrick, let alone speak to him without the flame becoming bigger.

“Brendon, I’m sorry.”

He squeezes his eyes shut at Patrick’s soft whisper of apology. He can’t tell whether Patrick’s lying to him again or if he’s being sincere, but he’s had enough of every word that comes out of Patrick’s mouth. “Just go.”

There’s no sound coming from Patrick, only silence following after his sentence. After he’s finished washing the dishes, he turns around to wipe his hands, and maybe to apologize for giving Patrick the cold shoulder like that, but Patrick’s already gone.

-

“I’m really sorry about this morning.”

Patrick has just changed into his pajamas when he finally gathers the courage to apologize for the way he acted. When Patrick doesn’t respond, he turns Patrick around so they’re facing each other, then places his fingers under Patrick’s chin, tilting his head up and looking into his eyes. Patrick doesn’t meet his gaze. “You know I’m worried about you, right?”

Patrick nods once, lips pressed into a thin line. He rests his palm on Patrick’s jaw, stroking his cheek before leaning down for a small, chaste kiss, but Patrick has already taken a step back from him. Hurt fills his eyes as Patrick walks to the bed, ignoring him.

If this is some sort of karma, then maybe he deserves it. Just this once.

-

He’s going to try and fix them.

He’s still struggling in that department, but he’s going to try. He at least manages to get Patrick to finish his breakfast and take his medications again. There is one thing, though. Patrick seems tired lately, fatigued and sluggish. It can’t be from lack of sleep, because Patrick goes to bed early every night.

Maybe it’s just one of the side-effects of the medication that he’s back on. He stopped taking it for almost a month, but now that he suddenly has the chemical in his system again, his body is probably trying to adjust to it.

The table is already set up with their dinner that he spent almost two hours on. It’s going to be worth it, though, when Patrick sees what he cooked. Come to think of it, he doesn’t think they’ve ever had dinner together since he got back from New York. Patrick’s always going to bed as soon as he gets back from the studio, and he always ends up having to eat dinner alone, accompanied by their dogs and Netflix.

At the sound of the front door being opened, he raises his head, a beam on his face as he waits for Patrick to come into view. “Hey, I made dinner for us,” he greets and gestures to the table, “it’s your favorite. I even made your mom’s pumpkin squares for dessert.”

Patrick looks up at him, bottom lip worried between his teeth, forehead creasing. “I’m not really hungry.”

His face falls. He’s been looking forward to having dinner together with Patrick. “But I made your favorite food.”

“Yeah, I know.” Patrick replies, his voice small and drops his gaze to the floor. “But I’m just--”

“Not hungry.” He finishes for him with a flat voice. Patrick’s face twists into a grimace, and he lets his annoyance out in one long exhale before looking at Patrick in worry. “Patrick, please? You haven’t been starving yourself, have you?”

“No.” Patrick denies, eyes narrowing into a glare. At the appalled look on Patrick’s face, he wishes he can take his words back. “Brendon, you know I don’t do that.”

“Then, have dinner with me.” He pleads. “Patrick, I’ve been back less than a month and we haven’t had _one_ dinner together.”

“I had a big meal at the studio.” Patrick’s voice begins to rise as he defends himself. “That’s why I’m not hungry when I get back.”

He grits his teeth; patience rapidly wearing thin. “Patrick, I beg you, _please_ don’t lie to me again.”

Patrick’s face hardens as it flushes red with anger. “I’m not!”

“You are!” He snaps, unable to hold off his frustration any longer. “Pete told me you’d coop up inside the studio when everyone else would get lunch!”

Patrick’s eyes widen for a second, taken aback, then seethes. “You have Pete _spy_ on me?”

“With the way you’ve been acting lately? Yes!” He throws his hands in the air, furious, as red, hot energy rushes in his veins. “I don’t even know where to start! You’re always--”

“I’m done with this conversation. I’m going to bed.” Patrick mutters, interrupting him as he marches to the bedroom, leaving him alone in the middle of the living room.

He heaves out an angry sigh, his hand going to his hair and tugging at the roots. This is what he hates the most when they’re fighting. Most of the times, they would cool off in separate rooms and talk it out after they’ve calmed down, but sometimes, in the rare instances that either of them are being unquestionably difficult, they would walk away in the middle of a fight and leave it at that, pretending it never happened. Like what Patrick’s doing now. And a few weeks back.

It’s clear that both of them are still heated up from the previous argument and that Patrick’s not coming out of the bedroom for the rest of the night, so he trudges to the kitchen, almost throwing out all the food into the trash in his red haze. Thankfully he has enough control of his mind to keep the uneaten food in the fridge.

He ends up sleeping on the couch that night.

-

He invites Spencer to come to the house after Patrick goes to the studio. He’s supposed to work on his music, but after what’s been happening inside the house, the negative energy is starting to get to him, messing with his sound and productivity.

Under any circumstances, he _would_ talk to Patrick about it, about what’s bothering him, but since Patrick hasn’t uttered a single word to him since their last fight, he decides to talk to someone else instead.

He talks to Spencer about the change in Patrick’s behaviour, about when it happened, how it could possibly happen, about the fight and the silent treatment.

He leaves the part where Patrick was off his medication for almost a month. No one needs to know that.

“I just don’t want this to be Folie all over again.” He leans forward on the couch and groans into his hands. “He was-- I couldn’t-- Spence, I couldn’t even _reach_ him last time. What if the same thing is happening? What am I supposed to do?”

Spencer sighs, scratching his chin. “Well, Folie’s in the past. The guys have grown so much since then. They know what went wrong last time, so I doubt it’s going to be Folie 2.0.”

The thing is, Patrick has already compared MANIA to Folie a few times in interviews, and honestly? It scares him, because he can see the similarities between the two; the process, the reception, the criticism.

The deterioration of Patrick’s mental health.

“Yeah, but.” He pauses when his voice begins to crack, and he faces away from Spencer so his friend can’t see the tears that are beginning to pool in his eyes. He feels pathetic, crying over Patrick’s mental health and well-being and not being able to help him in any way. They live in the same house, sleep in the same bed, eat in the same kitchen, _but they don’t even talk._

“Speaking from experience, you can’t force people who doesn’t want help _to_ get help.” Spencer speaks up after the silence stretches long enough. “Trust me, he’s only going to push you away if you keep doing that.”

But Patrick is already pushing him away without him doing anything.

“So, what? I’m supposed to watch and do nothing?” He asks, snarky and bitter.

Spencer moves to sit near him and places a comforting hand on his back. “Be there for him like what you did to me. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

“What if he doesn’t? What if he never will?”

“Well, he loves you, doesn’t he? Of course he will.”

He drops the subject right then and there, silence taking over the atmosphere as he mulls over Spencer’s words.

Does he, though? Does Patrick still love him?

-

When they both go to bed at night, the atmosphere is heavy with tensed silence. Patrick is curled up nearing the edge of the bed, creating as much distance as he can between them, and Brendon’s heart sinks. Things have taken a turn for the worse after their fight. If Patrick is barely talking to him before the fight, now he’s just completely ignoring him.

His gaze falls at the space between them. They may be a few inches separated from each other, but to him, it feels like a thousand miles. Patrick feels so far away, especially when he has his back turned towards him, and it’s as if there’s an invisible barrier around him with the way he hides himself under the blanket.

He closes the distance between them and places a hand on Patrick’s side, hesitating at first. When Patrick doesn’t move, he scoots closer until his chest is pressed against Patrick’s back, and he drapes his arm across Patrick’s torso, pressing a light kiss to the back of his neck.

Neither say anything, but he wishes Patrick would break the silence for once.

His eyelids flutter close, and he nuzzles the back of Patrick’s head, taking in his scent before he succumbs to sleep.

-

It’s around 2 in the morning that he stirs awake. He rolls on his back, stretching his limbs before lying on his side again, arm reaching out for a warm body beside him.

Only there’s no warm body beside him.

He blindly pats the bed, his eyes blearily opening when Patrick’s side is cold. Sitting up, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and looks around the dark bedroom. There’s no light coming from under the bathroom door, so Patrick’s not inside. He swings his legs to the edge of the bed, putting on his glasses and stifling a yawn before getting up to find the missing man.

He goes to the kitchen first, figuring that maybe Patrick just needs a drink to quench his thirst, but he sees no Patrick. The studio, perhaps. Sometimes Patrick would spend time in his studio, lying on the couch and staring at the _Urielectric_ sign hanging on the wall, claiming that it helps keep his mind grounded.

Although, on his way to his studio, he notices the door to one of the guest’s bedroom is slightly ajar. It’s odd, considering that they always keep all the doors close so the dogs won’t make a mess.

He walks closer to the door, hand moving to grab at the knob, but he pauses when he sees Patrick’s silhouette inside the room. He stands behind the wall and peeks inside to see what Patrick is doing. Although, once he sees it, he suddenly feels wide awake.

Patrick is sitting on the bed with his legs pulled up to his chest, hugging his knees, and his head is downcast. After a few seconds of observing, he finally notices that Patrick’s shoulders are trembling; his quiet sobs filling the silence in the room.

He pulls back from the door and tilts his head up against the wall, his throat tightening and eyes prickling at the heartbreaking sound. He knows he should go in there, be right next to Patrick, console him, live up to his words that he promised a few weeks back, but instead he stays hidden behind the wall. Quiet. Hurt. _Helpless._

If this were to happen before their fight, then he’d have already dashed inside without a second thought and pull Patrick to his chest, doing everything he can to soothe him. But after the fight, Patrick seems to be even more closed off and withdrawn from the world, even him. To be honest, he’s not sure if Patrick wants him there. If his presence is wanted.

He rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm as the sound of Patrick’s sobs continue to reverberate in the air.

What is happening to them?

-

It takes him about a few days, but he finally finds out the reason why Patrick has been tired lately.

Patrick wakes up in the middle of the night, everyday, and isolates himself in the guest bedroom for a few hours, not sleeping, just staring up at the ceiling--he caught Patrick silently crying on a couple of nights, and it hurts that he can’t do anything to help--before he goes back to their bedroom, just in time before he’s supposed to wake up.

He stayed up all night trying to figure out Patrick’s routine, but he doesn’t mention anything to him. There’s probably a (reasonable) reason why Patrick wants space, even if it’s in the middle of the night when he’s sleeping beside him, so he keeps it quiet. No matter how much it kills him.

But at the same time, he doesn’t want to leave Patrick alone. Hell, he’s not supposed to leave him alone when he’s in that kind of state. Patrick’s more vulnerable like that, and with no one around to help him, no support, he could crash and burn in a blink of an eye.

They’ve already settled on the bed for the night, lights have been switched off, and both of them warm under the covers. He looks over to Patrick, who is facing away from him.

It pains him to see Patrick suffering on his own. He doesn’t want Patrick to feel like he’s a burden to him. In fact, he’d gladly carry all the weight of Patrick’s problems for him. He just wants _one_ thing.

He wants Patrick to open up to him.

Is that a wishful thinking? Or is he not trustworthy enough? Does Patrick think he’s going to leave him if he finds out?

His mind begins to bombard him with questions that he doesn’t know the answer to. Questions that _only_ Patrick knows the answer to.

He bites his lip. Still, it’s not wrong for him to let Patrick know that he’s always available for him. He moves closer to Patrick and takes a deep breath, pulse racing. “Do you need me to do anything?”

Silent.

“It’s okay. You know, if you don't want to talk to me, you can talk to Pete.” His voice slows down to a murmur when Patrick doesn’t make any indication to answer him. “You can talk to anyone, too, I don't mind. Just please don’t keep everything inside.”

He places a hand on Patrick's shoulder and slowly removes it when Patrick goes stiff under his touch, curling away and further into himself.

He swallows the lump in his throat, bringing his hand back down on the sheets. “Okay.”

He moves back to his side, his chest aching with the distance he puts between them.

-

He tunes in to watch the VMA that evening. Patrick left early to get prepared for the red carpet with the guys, and even when they’re on a weird, not speaking term, he still wants to see Patrick in his outfit.

And he does see Patrick and the rest of the band just as the red carpet starts. His face breaks out into a smile on instinct.

Patrick looks dapper in his grey suit, and if he were there, he would have already squeezed and pinched his cheeks until Patrick bats his hands away, grumbling and failing to hide his smile.

Pete’s the one who does the talking, and Patrick stays behind everyone the entire time. When they’re asked about the album, though, everyone looks over to Patrick, and he can almost feel the pressure that Patrick’s currently feeling. He’s nervous, like that time on Seth Meyers set, fidgeting too much at one point, but he answers smoothly, in his opinion. And then Patrick’s smiling, along with Pete and Joe and Andy as they pose for a few pictures, but it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

His own smile drops, as does the heavy feeling in his chest.

-

Patrick returns just a little after midnight in his khaki pants and shirt. He looks tired, _is tired,_ and he’s looking as if he’s fighting to keep his eyes open.

He gets up from the couch where he’s been waiting for Patrick to come back, and he throws his arms around Patrick. He can’t help the smile slithering on his face when Patrick leans into him, resting his weight on him. For a split second, everything feels normal again.

“You’re still my number one winner.” He murmurs against Patrick’s hair. Patrick may not show it, but it’s obvious he’s a little upset by the result. “The award is fan-voted, so it does nothing to affect your musical credibility, okay?”

“I know.” Patrick nods, his breath brushing the skin of his neck, and whispers, “Thank you.”

“Do you want me to get you anything?”

Patrick shakes his head slowly before pulling himself away to go to the bedroom. “I just want to go to sleep.”

He lets Patrick go without another word. He doesn’t follow him straight after, instead he stays back at the living room, cleaning up the mess he created with a pizza box and a bunch of empty soda cans. By the time he’s cleaned everything, he retreats back into their bedroom, the lights off, and finds Patrick already asleep.

He sits down on the floor next to the bed, caressing Patrick’s arm before moving upwards to stroke his cheek and kiss his forehead. Patrick is sleeping soundly, his breathing slow, and he looks tired. Not the being-out-at-an-award-show-for-three-hours kind of tired, but just plain tired.

He notices Patrick’s phone clutched between his fingers, and he gently pries the phone off without waking him up to put it on the nightstand. Although, when he turns it over, the screen captures his attention.

Patrick has his Twitter opened to his mentions, which confuses him. As far as he knows, Patrick deleted his Twitter app a long time ago, and he assumes that the note that Patrick wrote was posted by using Pete’s phone.

Unable to help himself, he scrolls down the screen, his heart picking up its rate the more he reads the recent tweets that flooded Patrick’s mentions.

While most of the tweets are compliments about Patrick and Fall Out Boy, his attention is grabbed by the hate tweets mentioned directly at Patrick, about his weight, his clothes, his appearance. His voice.

Their relationship.

_Lmao is @PatrickStump gaining weight? He should probably lay off the junk food_

_Look at the bright side: fat @PatrickStump = good album_

_Who wants to bet the suit is tight on @PatrickStump ? probably why he didn’t button it lol_

_Im sorry but i still can’t see how @PatrickStump and @BrendonUrie are still together...brendon deserves better_

He turns off the phone before his wrath can reach its peak, placing it down on the nightstand. Sighing, he presses his forehead against Patrick’s and closes his eyes as he strokes the hair at the base of Patrick’s neck.

Patrick shouldn’t even be reading those tweets. Hell, he shouldn’t even have the app on his phone anymore. Even though he’s more confident than when he was in his early twenties, he’s still struggling with his insecurities, and the fans’ tweets and comments only serve fuel to the flame. He’s already fighting a war inside his head, alone, and he’s losing. Twitter certainly doesn’t help in anything.

Patrick’s falling faster by the second, and nothing he does seems to manage to pull Patrick back up, even just a little.

Can he reach Patrick before it’s too late?

**Author's Note:**

> :) so someone ACTUALLY posted a couple of tweets about Patrick and his weight during the VMAs and wow I have never felt so angry before in my life


End file.
